"That is your affair,"—I replied, drawing myself up.
"I shall be compelled to call you out,"—he said carelessly,—"if you do not withdraw your expressions...."
"I have no intention of withdrawing anything,"—I retorted proudly.
"Really?"—he remarked, not without a sneering smile.—"In that case,"—he went on, after a brief pause,—"I shall have the honour to send my second to you to-morrow."
"Very well, sir,"—I said in the most indifferent tone I could muster.
The Prince bowed slightly.
"I cannot forbid you to think me a frivolous man,"—he added, arrogantly narrowing his eyes;—"but it is impossible that the Princes N*** should be upstarts. Farewell for the present, Mr.... Mr. Shtukatúrin."
He quickly turned his back on me, and again approached his host, who had already begun to grow agitated.
"Mr. Shtukatúrin"!.... My name is Tchulkatúrin.... I could find no reply to make to this last insult of his, and only stared after him in a violent rage.—"Farewell until to-morrow," I whispered, setting my teeth, and immediately hunted up an officer of my acquaintance, Captain Koloberdyáeff of the uhlans, a desperate carouser and a splendid fellow, narrated to him in a few words my quarrel with the Prince, and asked him to be my second. He, of course, immediately consented, and I wended my way homeward.
I could not get to sleep all night—from agitation, not from pusillanimity. I am no coward. I even thought very little indeed about the impending possibility of losing my life, that highest good on earth, according to the Germans. I thought of Liza only, of my dead hopes, of what I ought to do. "Ought I to try to kill the Prince?" I asked myself, and, of course, wanted to kill him,—not out of vengeance, but out of a desire for Liza's good. "But she will not survive that blow," I went on. "No, it will be better to let him kill me!"